


That's How It's Done

by LokisGirl



Category: Guns N' Roses, Metallica
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom Duff, Dubious Consent, F/M, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokisGirl/pseuds/LokisGirl
Summary: Metallica's on tour with Guns N' Roses. Every night, Jason hears disturbing noises from the room next door. Whose room is it and what are they doing?Duff volunteers to show him.(This is a bit more dubcon than I remember it being. There's nonconsensual voyeurism and the boys get a bit violent with each other.)
Relationships: Duff McKagan/Jason Newsted
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	That's How It's Done

The tour was chaotic to begin with. Guns N Roses management decided it would be a plan to book them into the same hotels as us, presumably expecting the Metallica boys to set a good example. I’ll give you a guess how that turned out, what with James being on a one-man mission to drink every city we visited dry and Lars having his nose shoved so far up Axl’s ass he could smell his toothpaste. Even Kirk fell under the GNR spell, tempted by the coke and the girls. It’s like it says on the cover of Lies, ‘the loveliest girls are always in your GNR.’

I had no interest in coke and even less in girls I was never going to see again. I spent my nights holed up in my hotel room with my four track recorder. Some nights I was alone, other times the guys from Faith No More came to jam. No matter what, I always knew that I was only going to have until 2 am when the Guns party ended to record. After that, the noise would start. Not my noise, but the seeping sounds coming from the next room. It crept onto my recordings and into my head. 

Moans, screams, and occasional bland thudding sounds filter through the thin plaster of the wall. I’m not certain what’s happening on the other side, but my imagination runs wild. I haven’t been able to make out actual words. All I have is a sneaky feeling that whatever is going on is more perverted than anything I’ve experienced, and a lot more fun. I’m not even sure whose room is beside mine. Our management always books us four rooms, two on each side of the hallway. The hotel predictably splits us alphabetically, so James and Kirk are on one side, Lars and I across the way. It stands to reason they’d do the same thing with the Gunners; the chances are good that it’s the same guy every night, the same hand producing those groans and wails that crawl under my skin.

The night of Jim Martin’s birthday, we forgo recording after the show in favour of having a few drinks at the GNR after party. I catch sight of Duff by the bar. Making my way over, I see he’s having a deep conversation with Lars or at least, Lars is having a deep conversation with him. Duff is drinking, shot after shot, not even looking at the pretty bartender who’s standing there refilling his glass every thirty seconds. He catches my eye, raising an exasperated eyebrow. When I finally reach the two of them, I tell Lars Axl is looking for him. He immediately goes off to search for his new best friend. 

“Isn’t Hetfield going to get jealous, his little buddy running off like a dog with a new chew toy?” Duff passes me a shot of vodka. I take it, closing my eyes so Duff won’t see them water. For him straight vodka might as well be juice. I’ve never been a good drinker and I feel like a high school kid at his first kegger trying to keep up. Duff is so incredibly tall that I’m already short beside him, which does nothing to alleviate the feeling of inferiority. He’s so laid back and smart. I need to slow down on the drinking to keep up my end of the conversation. He doesn’t seem to notice that beside him I’m a talking monkey. He slings his impossibly long arm around my shoulders, telling me a joke. He leaves it laying there, holding me to his side for what feels like half the night.  
At one point Matt is regaling us with a tale of two groupies. He’s imitating one of them, doing a high falsetto voice mewling “Pop me like a balloon, baby!” We’re all in hysterics- Matt missed his calling. He should have been a comedian instead of a drummer.  
I take the opportunity to find out who it is that keeps interrupting my recording sessions. “Which one of you keeps bringing the screamers back to the hotel? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since the tour started.” 

Matt points to Duff. “That’s him. Slash is constantly telling me how grateful he is not to have to share a room with the big sick fuck like he did when they were starting out. Says he’s scarred for life.”

“Are you killing them in there?” I joke. 

“Nah, I just like to push people’s buttons, make them get off on things they wouldn’t ordinarily try,” he smiles slyly. His hazel eyes capture mine with a little challenge. “I like to find their limit, and push them past it.”

“That sounds like a good way to get yourself arrested. ‘No Means No’ and all that,” I caution him dubiously. I’m suddenly very uncomfortable being anywhere near him. I make a point of being as respectful of people’s boundaries as possible. That’s how I was raised. 

“The only No I ever hear is after I ask ‘em if they want me to stop,” Duff’s voice oozes the kind of confidence that makes me a little jealous of him. I shouldn’t be, we’re in pretty much the same place career-wise, except that his band is imploding and mine isn’t. He’s a raging alcoholic and I’m healthy. It’s just that he’s so cool. He’s the definition of a rock star, and I’m an overgrown fan boy. None of that is the real reason for my jealousy. Bald fact is, well, he’s sexy.

“Whatever. You certainly have a way of getting them to scream,” I try to keep the question out of the comment. 

Duff puts his lips right up to my ear. “You wanna find out how I do it?” he whispers. His breath is warm, making the shaved bit of my scalp tingle. I might be imagining things, but I could swear I feel him lick the shell of my ear for a microsecond. 

“Are you going to tell me?” I voluntarily take another shot, trying to keep my voice steady. 

“I’m going to show you.” Duff leans back against the bar, slouching enough that we can make eye contact without me looking up. A slow smile spreads conspiracy over his face. He rolls his eyes, taking in the whole room. “Pick a girl. Any girl.”

There’s a smoking hot woman with long wavy blonde hair in skintight jeans and a tiny tank top standing by a potted palm tree decorated with tiny blinking lights. She’s talking to another girl, which is a pretty good sign she’s not taken. I point her out to Duff, nodding in her direction. He straightens up, lights a cigarette and off he goes. I hang back by the bar to watch the master at work. 

Duff talks to them both for a minute. Then he puts a hand on the wrong girl, guiding her back to the bar. This girl is cute, she’s laughing, her smile showing a lot of perfect teeth. Duff is a gentleman, getting her a drink. He looks down at her with just enough smoulder that she can see he’s into her without it being creepy. Damn, he’s got skills. It’s been less than five minutes and she’s already good to go. 

Slash gets my attention at the bar. We’re doing birthday shots of Jack for Jim. I leave Duff with his new friend and get with the party. Bumping into Lars, he jumps a foot off the floor.

“You scared me! I totally thought you were over there with Duff, and it messed me up when you ran into me!” He looks back to the end of the bar. “See?” He points. From the back, that girl could be me. I didn’t notice that her hair is almost identical to mine. I do a double-take.

“You confused me with a chick? How drunk are you?” I cover my real thought. Lars does not need to know that maybe Duff chose that woman because she looks like me. 

I waste twenty minutes trading friendly insults with Lars. He’s upset because James, Kirk and some of the boys from the crew were making fun of his new jacket. It’s white leather. He says he bought it because ‘black is so over.’ Everyone else knows he bought it because Axl has one. I remind him of his abortive attempt to grow sideburns the year he was obsessed with Motörhead. We commiserate over our shared problem. We’re in the biggest band on the planet, but we’ll always be dorks. It’s just who we are. Lars drifts away to find someone cooler to talk to. I give up on the party. Heading through the lobby, the clerk at the front desk waves me over. 

“Mr. Newsted?”

“That’s me.”

“I have a message for you from Mr. McKagan. He says to tell you it’s unlocked and open if you care.”

I say thank you and head upstairs, wondering the hell that’s supposed to mean. The front door to these hotel rooms lock automatically. There’s no way it can be unlocked. I wonder what’s going on behind Duff’s door as I pass it. I flip on the TV in my own room and zone out on the bed, sitting up against the upholstered headboard. That’s when I see it. There’s another door connecting our rooms, well, actually a pair of doors, one on my side of the wall, and the other on Duff’s. His side must be open. 

Turning off the TV, I go to open the door, think better of it and turn out the lights first. Then I turn the knob on the connecting door as quietly as possible. True to his word, the door on his side is open. Duff’s standing in the middle of the room shirtless. The auburn haired girl faces him, her back to me. He raises a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet. He kisses the tip of his finger and draws a pattern I can’t see on the girl’s face. My brain informs me he must be tracing her lips. I watch her body tense as she breathes in. She’s nervous.

Duff smiles that gorgeous warm smile that makes everyone want to do anything he says. He speaks to her quietly like she’s a shy animal he wants to pet. “You’re very beautiful. May I kiss you?”

She nods minutely. The tension in her ratchets up another degree. Duff leans in without touching her with anything but his lips, kissing her softly. She makes a tiny sound, something that might have been the dream remnant of a moan. She tilts her head back, welcoming him. The kiss deepens slowly. It’s a delicate thing, chaste. She raises a hand to touch him. Duff catches it gently, putting it back by her side.

“What was my rule?” he asks her.

Disappointment shows itself in the slight drop of her shoulders. “No touching until you say so,” she replies, petulance in every word. 

“Sulking will get you nowhere, my dear,” Duff teases her. I guess that rule only applies to her, as he steps around her, studying her body from every angle. He strokes her throat with one hand, holds up her hair with the other. “You really ought to wear your hair up. You have a lovely neck. May I?”

That quick nod. Keeping her hair pulled up away from her exposed throat, he exhales a long steady breath on her flesh before licking the spot just under her ear. She makes another miniature sound, this one a little mewl like a kitten. He begins to actually kiss her neck, making his way down to her collar bone. 

He drags a finger along the edge of her shirt, following the neckline down to skim her cleavage. Again the same heart-stopping voice, the same gentle question. “May I?”

She’s shaking. It’s not cold. I’m actually sweating a bit, standing here at the open door. He’s not really doing anything yet it’s more erotic than any porn I’ve ever seen. 

Duff slowly undoes the buttons on her shirt, taking the time to stroke every inch of skin he uncovers. Her skin glistens in the low light of the room. I’m a few feet away, and I feel the heat of her. Duff dips his head to her chest, and my brain provides my tongue with a memory of the sweet taste of sweat on aroused flesh. He licks her softly in the valley between her breasts and this time she really does moan. He stays there using only his lips and tongue until she raises shaking hands and plunges them into his thick blond hair. 

He steps back. Her posture changes. Her spine is rigid. She’s gone past frustrated and on into angry. Duff’s holding her hands in one of his, keeping himself out of reach. “Let me touch you, baby,” she pleads.

“No,” he shrugs, a sadistic smile on his lips. 

“Why not?” she begs.

“It’s more fun to wind you up, that’s why.”

“It’s not fair,” she whines.

“Do you want me to stop?” He’s threatening her. I see it’s all part of his game now.

“No,” she says quietly. 

“No what?” he prompts.

“No, don’t stop!”

Duff took another step back. “Where are your manners?”

She sinks to her knees, looking up his long body like a penitent before the cross. “Please don’t stop,” she begs. He keeps his face expressionless, looking straight ahead instead of down at her. He’s actually looking directly at me, checking to see what I think of his little show. I make a face and a silent gesture: how are you doing this? He licks his lips and that slow sexy smile spreads again. 

He pulls on her hands, guiding her until she’s face down on the edge of the bed. Using his knee between her thighs, he spreads her legs. She looks over her shoulder to see what he’s doing. I step back into the shadows of my room. Duff leans over her, obscuring her view. “Eyes front, please.” 

Stepping ever so slightly to one side so I can see what he’s doing, he pushes her tiny skirt up around her waist, running his strong fingers up the inside of her thigh. He barely grazes her sex with his fingertips. It’s still enough to make her arch her back, trying to make him touch her. He puts his other hand on her tailbone, keeping her still. Stroking up her other leg, he compliments her figure again in that same molten tone he’s been using all night. It gains him another moan as she shifts under his hand again.  
He casts a devilish look behind him just for me. With a quick flick of his wrist, he spanks her. She groans wordlessly. Massaging the spot he’s just struck, Duff allows her enough movement to push back into his hand, stroking herself on his fingers. She’s making a full deep-throated moan now. 

Duff hooks his thumb under the impossibly small g-string she’s wearing and tugs at it until it’s tight enough that I see her folds outlined. He spanks her again and again, every blow making her writhe against the silky material. Soon it’s soaked through and she’s begun to scream. She’s begging him to fuck her, finger her, to do anything he wants.

Picking her up like she weighs nothing, he sits on the bed and positions her so she’s straddling him face to face. Yanking the thong to one side, he slides his fingers inside her, capturing her nipple between his teeth. She’s wailing as she rides his hand. Her voice abruptly cuts off as her whole body goes stiff, shaking with a hard orgasm. Duff slips his fingers out, and she floods his lap. 

He’s laughing silently over her shoulder as he lays her out on the coverlet. She has apparently been transformed into jelly, her limbs floppy and all she can say is “oh wow, oh like wow.” Duff kisses her on the forehead and leaves her to sleep. 

Duff crosses the room to stand in the doorway. His jeans are soaked in girl come and sticking to the outline of an intimidating erection. I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life, just from watching him manipulate that total stranger. How he seemed to know exactly what she wanted without having to ask her.

“Your turn,” he says, that glint of a challenge back in his eye. 

“My turn?” I’m lost. He can’t be insinuating what I think he is. I retreat into my darkened room. Light filters in through the sheer curtains on the window. I wish I’d pulled the blackout drapes earlier. I’d like to disappear. 

Duff’s pale form reaches out for me, a marble statue in the half light. I’m scanning the room, desperate for a move that will both take me away from him and not get me closer to the bed. There’s nowhere to go. His hand closes on my arm, he brings me around to face him. At this distance, I have no choice but to put my head back and look up at him. 

“Jason, what do you want?” His invitation is absolutely open, I can hear that there’s nothing he won’t do. All I have to do is ask. 

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

He runs his nails down my arm. The light scratching makes all the little hairs stand up and my nerve endings spark. Duff strokes right down the back of my hand, his fingers landing on my leg. I can’t move. I hold my breath as he moves his hand up to lay over the heat of my excitement. I feel myself blushing at his touch. 

“You want me to touch you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I nod, feeling slightly ashamed.

“Use your words. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t speak up,” he instructs. 

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I can’t say anything. Duff squeezes my erection through my jeans. He shakes his head. “Cat got your tongue?”

I nod again, moving on from being slightly ashamed to totally humiliated. I don’t try to stop him when he grabs the button on my jeans and tears them open. I don’t move when he wraps his demanding hand around my cock. I don’t move when he roughly begins to jerk me off. 

The only sounds in the room are the friction of his hands on my body, and my breathing. I’m panting so fast I start to fear I’m going to hyperventilate. It echoes in my ears. Duff’s hurting me. I’m powerless to stop him. I can’t make myself speak or even move. I’m terrified he won’t stop. Or that he will. 

My body reacts instinctively to the pain. I watch him fly across the room after I shove him hard. I go after him, pinning him to the bed. I draw one of my hands back and punch him as hard as I can. The dull thump of my fist against his cheekbone turns his head. He gasps. I hit him again. The edge of my ring catches his cheek. A drop of blood glistens on his skin. 

I put a hand in the centre of his chest to keep him down, leaning in to lick the blood off his face. Sliding my arm up, I slip it under his chin. I put some weight on it, just enough that he knows I can cut off his air any time I want. He struggles against me. Increasing the pressure, I wait for him to stop. Letting up a little so he can breathe, I reach between us to free him from his wet denim. He’s just as hard as he was before I threw him. Either he liked my outburst or it didn’t matter to him at all. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot the rules. No touching until you say so.” I extract my hand from his pants. Duff gives me the dirtiest look he can muster. I like it. He’s getting frustrated. Shimmying up his body, I park myself on his chest. Drawing his arms over his head, I have to lean over his face to stretch his arms all the way out. 

Which puts my cock in his face. Duff opens his lips and engulfs me in his hot mouth. I almost blow right then, but I feel his teeth scraping lightly on my head. I put two and two together. I try to scramble away, but as soon as I let go of his hands, they’re on my hips, dragging me towards him. I may be on top, but I’m trapped.

Then the fireworks start to go off. My nerves are singing. His hands on my hip give me the slightest encouragement, and I start to move, thrusting into his mouth while he takes me to a world of sensations out beyond anywhere I’ve been before. I look down so I can remember this surreal moment forever, so I can remember what Duff McKagan, professional cool guy, looked like while I was face fucking him. His eyes are smiling up at me, still reflecting that “I’m in control here” expression. He forces me to slow my pace and breathes around me. His throat opens. 

The next thing I know is that it feels like my entire cock is down his throat and someone is moaning so loudly it sounds like a wordless shout. My brain tries to point out that it’s me, but Duff chooses that moment to contract all his muscles around me and the universe melts. Everything goes white, flashing behind my eyes. Then everything goes black.

When I regain consciousness, I’m alone under the covers. My clothes are folded neatly on a chair beside the bed. On top of the pile is one of the hotel’s notecards. The message, scrawled in black pen, is simple:  
That’s how it’s done.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted elsewhere 2014-ish.


End file.
